Cast In Courtlight (7 page)

“Oh. Good.” There wasn’t much else one could say to something like that.

Kaylin tried to rise, and her knees locked.

“There’s a chair for you, if you need it. I sent Darlene home. She was… a little upset herself.”

“Did she see the baby?”

Marya nodded, the smile never leaving her face. It was a slight smile, and framed by etched lines, but it was like bedrock. You could stand on a smile like that.

“She’ll know better next time,” Marya added quietly. “This is only her third birthing. She’s never been at a birthing when we’ve had to call you before, but she’s a smart girl, a solid apprentice. She’ll learn.”

Kaylin forced herself to stand. “Gods willing,” she said, keeping her tone polite and professional, “she’ll never have to see it again.”

“Aye, gods,” Marya said with a shrug. She turned her attention to the mother, and then frowned at the poor young man in the distant chair, his dark hair splayed flat against his forehead, his skin still winter-white, except where it was purple. “I forget what it’s like, with the first babe. Gerrold, come help with your wife. She needs to drink a lot of water, and she’s likely to be a bit weak. You’ve saved any money, make sure she gets meat, and not that terrible stuff the merchants are pawning off on foreigners either, understand?”

He nodded. Kaylin highly doubted that he’d heard anything more than his name. She made her way toward the chair that Marya had produced, but before she could sit, Andellen was there, all six feet of him.

His armor looked damn odd in the very small room.

“Kaylin Neya,” he said quietly, “it is time that we returned.”

She nodded. But she couldn’t quite stand.

“Leave her be,” Marya said, her voice a slap.

“You serve your master,” the Barrani replied, “and I, mine.” But his words were shorn of contempt, and if they weren’t respectful, the lack of contempt said something. What, exactly, Kaylin was a bit too tired to figure out. Later.

“She doesn’t have a master,” Kaylin told him.

“What did he say, dear?”

Kaylin shook her head. “It’s Barrani.”

“I recognize the language.” Marya was too tired to keep disdain from her words. “And them that’s polite use language other people can understand when they’ve got company.”

“The Barrani aren’t famed for their manners for a reason, Marya.”

“Well, they could start learning. It’s never too late, and it’s not like courtesy ever killed anyone.”

Kaylin almost laughed. What could she say to Marya that would make sense of this armored stranger? That he was one of the fieflord’s personal guard?

Andellen, however, chose to take no offense at the old woman’s words. “We could stay at my place,” Kaylin told him. “It’s night in the fiefs. We were lucky enough to miss the ferals the first time.”

But Andellen did not reply; he was watching – of all things – the babe.

“Andellen?”

The Barrani shrugged. “You are too weak to walk,” he said at last. It was the first sign of hesitance that she had yet seen him show. “I will take you to your home.”

Five minutes passed like three hours. Kaylin wanted to sleep off the healing on the nearest stretch of cobbled stone that didn’t have merchanting crap all over it; the problem was finding one. Well, that and the big Barrani who herded her forward every time she looked like she might fall. He took care not to touch her; it seemed odd. Had she been with Teela or Tain, they would have given up on her half a block past, and carried her the rest of the way. Oh, she would have cursed them in at least three languages, but they were used to that.

Andellen gave her space.

He made certain that anyone whose curiosity was stronger than their self-preservation instinct also gave her space, and she finally reached the door of her apartment. She fumbled with the key and dropped it twice, while he watched, impassive. Waiting.

She tossed out a few recreational Aerian curses, just to keep in practice, and made a third attempt at the lock. This time, it worked.

The stairs looked very, very steep from where she stood. She made her way up them, hanging on to the rails until she ran out of railing. Her door was there. She was surprised that it was open. And more surprised when she saw who was waiting in the room. Severn, in the moonlight. He’d even opened the shutters, the bastard.

Andellen was behind her. She knew this because the stone of Severn’s expression shifted into something a lot less friendly.

“When did I give you a key?” she muttered.

“You didn’t.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting.”

Sarcasm took too much energy. She stumbled over the threshold. Andellen followed.
Great
, she thought,
they’re going to fight. I’ll lose the apartment
. But… they didn’t. Nothing made sense. Severn was stiff, and obviously angry, as he made his way toward her.

“Waiting?”

“Someone sent word,” he said as he caught her. His hands were cold. And stiff.

“The fieflord entrusts her to your care,” Andellen’s voice said. She didn’t actually see him. Couldn’t. She could see the hollows of Severn’s collarbone, and they were the whole of her vision.

“You’re bleeding,” he said in her ear.

“Not my blood,” she replied dimly. “But the baby was a girl.”

It was the last thing she said, and she thought she smiled.

Sunlight was the bane of her existence. Mirrors were also the bane of her existence. And the inside of her mouth? That was bad, too. Her eyes were crusted together, her arms felt as if she’d been doing chin-ups in the drill yard, and her legs – well, never mind; they were worse.

The mirror was snarling. Covered, and snarling.The glare of the damn sun made her glad that opening her eyes was difficult.

“Kaylin Neya!”

No one, she thought bitterly, should have to wake up to
that
voice. Marcus Kassan was in a mood.

“Kaylin, take the bloody cloth off the damn mirror and answer me!”

“Coming,” she managed, and rolled over.

Either her bed had changed shape significantly over the course of the night, or someone else was in it. She jumped up, hit the open shutters with the back of her head, and cursed in loud and angry Leontine.

Which, of course, Marcus heard. It certainly added color to
his
reply.

Severn lay on his side, propped up on one elbow. His hair fell over one eye, and the scar along his cheek was white in the sunlight. He didn’t look sleepy.

“How long have you been
here?
” she hissed as she crawled off the bottom edge of her mattress.

He shrugged. “Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you answer the damn mirror?”

“The Sergeant is in a mood,” he replied. He sounded almost amused. But he didn’t look it, so she didn’t hit him.

There were rules that she tried to follow when she undertook a healing of any difficulty – and chief among those was Don’t Crouch; crouching for hours at a stretch almost destroyed her knees. Unfortunately, emergencies tended to drive common sense out of her head, as if it were something sheeplike.

Oh, it was bad. The sun was well past high, and the shadows it cast were a very strong reminder that she was – yet again – late for something.

Marcus was practically
eating
the mirror by the time she got to her end and pulled the cloth down from its less than pristine surface. When she saw his face, she thought briefly of putting the cloth
back
. Unfortunately, he’d seen her.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Out.”

He snorted, but there was a little less edge in the sound. He knew what she did when she was off duty, even though it was technically both illegal and impossible.

“You’ve got a meeting,” he growled.

“When?”

“A half an hour ago.”

Some days it just didn’t pay to be alive.

“How important is this meeting?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“On how much you like wearing the Hawk.”

She groaned. “Stall for me?”

“I have been,” he snapped, exposing the full line of Leontine teeth. They were really impressive teeth, too. “And Kaylin?”

“Yes, Marcus?”

“I’m not enjoying it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get your ass into the office.”

“Yes, sir.”

“
NOW
.”

She broke contact. “Don’t laugh,” she said to Severn, who was, in fact, chuckling. “You’ve got beat duty, and if you’re here, you’re not there.” The smile didn’t fade. “I’m not you, Kaylin.”

“Meaning what?”

“I cover my ass.” He reached into the folds of his uniform – he hadn’t even bothered to remove it – and pulled out a curled piece of paper. She really hated paper. “The Hawklord’s orders.”

“He
told you
to babysit me?”

“I don’t believe that was the term used, no. But my duties this Festival are somewhat elastic, owing, no doubt, to my inexperience.”

“Meaning?”

“You don’t have time for the explanation.”

She tossed him out into the hall and dressed.

“What are you not going to do?”

“Severn, I
don’t have time
for this!” Although Kaylin’s apartment was close to the midwives guild, close to the Ablayne, and reasonably close to the poorer market, it was not all that close to the Halls of Law. Close to the Halls was about three times farther than her lousy pay could stretch; she’d settled for what she could.

“Let me try that again. What are you
not
going to do?”

“Breathe anymore, if I don’t get there quickly!”

“Third time lucky,” Severn said in a tone of voice best reserved for truculent children. Kaylin bristled.

“I’m
not
going to offend the Imperial mage. If that’s what’s waiting. I was
supposed
to have a few days free.” She kicked a rock. It hurt her toe. The hopping around on one foot after the fact didn’t do much for her dignity, either.

But she was off her stride; Severn in the morning, Severn in her small bed, Severn by her side – it was too much to take in with good grace. And as Kaylin and good grace were often on opposite sides of the city, she struggled not to be exceptionally cranky.

But not too hard – cranky was better, in Kaylin’s books, than confused. She was damn tired. If Marcus had half a heart, she’d still be sleeping off the night’s work.

She was dressed in a wrinkled surcoat; she looked like Hawks might if they’d been involved in breaking up a bar brawl. She’d left her best pants in the damn Castle, and her second best, at the moment, had holes in the leg. Which wasn’t her fault; someone trying to cut her knee off could be considered damage taken in the line of duty.

The exceedingly stingy man often referred to as the Quartermaster had other ideas.

Severn frowned. He had a way of moving that suggested violence without descending to it, but the sudden glint of steel in his hands was not a comforting sign. Rocks and temper forgotten, Kaylin stilled instantly, her hand dropping to a dagger hilt.

“What?”

“Barrani,” he said quietly. She squinted. The sun was just too damn bright, and her mouth didn’t feel much less like she’d eaten a dead mouse. But as she eased into a fighting stance, she saw the man Severn referred to. Wondered how damn tired she must be to have missed him in the first place: he wore red.

And not a little red; it covered him from shoulder to foot in a long, expensive drape that caught sun and deepened color at the same time. Kaylin had a word for people who could spend
money
on magical
clothing
, but it wasn’t one she wanted to use where said person might actually hear it, given how synonymous money and power actually were in this city.

Red. “Arcanum,” she said in a tone that was usually reserved for the more colorful words she knew.

“Lord Evarrim,” Severn added. “He’s persistent.”

“He’s not alone.”

“I’d noticed.”

There were four guards with him, but they were dressed in a less obvious fashion. Where less obvious was armor that glinted beneath translucent surcoats. They wore their hair beneath wide bands, but they wore it Barrani style; capes that fell well past their shoulders. They were, of course, of a height, and they walked in perfect unison.

“You feel like jogging?” Severn asked, without moving.

“Not much.”

He shrugged. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”

His words sunk in. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“They’re not interested in me.”

Her turn to shrug. “They’re not interested in the Dragon Emperor either, and these are pretty damn crowded streets. I’ll take my chances.”

“Then let’s keep walking, shall we? The Halls are only four blocks away.”

Four long blocks. Kaylin nodded. Whatever animosity there was between them had turned sideways and vanished. They had time to squabble later. For now, they both wore the Hawk, and if Kaylin’s had seen better days, she was still proud of it. It was one of the very few things in her life that she’d worked to earn, and consequently one of the very few things she accorded real respect.

At block two, Lord Evarrim seemed to notice that Kaylin was walking toward him. Kaylin was underimpressed with the quality of his acting; it was good, of course, but it was cheap. Lord Nightshade would never have stooped to pretense.

Then again, he owned any street he walked in, so pretense was kind of superfluous.

“Private,” he said, nodding to Kaylin as if she were just barely worthy of notice. “Corporal.” The rank still rankled. Kaylin came from the Leontine school of acting, but struggled not to let it show anyway.

“Lord Evarrim,” Severn said, bowing. He hadn’t bothered to sheathe his dagger, and Lord Evarrim hadn’t bothered to notice the weapon. His guards were slightly more critical, but as swords were considered more of a public menace than daggers – and gods alone knew why – they didn’t draw weapons in the open streets.

They didn’t have to.

Severn did not come from the Leontine school of acting; he appeared to be both polite and deferential. It was a Barrani trick – the more polite and deferential you looked, the less of either you actually felt.